


As Time Goes By

by castielsdemons



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, I Tried, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Sharing a Bed, Stucky Secret Santa 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8949184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsdemons/pseuds/castielsdemons
Summary: From the 1930s to modern times, Bucky Barnes tries (and fails) to tell Steve how he really feels. Of course, seventy years is a long time to keep it all bottled up. A guy’s gotta break at some point… right?Or, the seven times Bucky wanted to tell Steve “I love you,” and the time he actually did it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [韶光若水](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951354) by [abbabccd05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbabccd05/pseuds/abbabccd05)



> Inspired by R. McKinley's "8 Ways To Say I Love You". I did a Dean/Castiel version way back in the day, but I thought I'd revisit it with Stucky. I kinda rushed so I could meet the deadline after I had a period of writer's block, so... oops.  
> I'm going to be editing this a lot, so beware of that.  
> For ravendarkwood.

#####  _ONE_

######  **JANUARY 1** **st** **, 1938**

The winter air bites his exposed face as he walks from the pub to his apartment. The last bus left hours ago, so Bucky has to walk now. He doesn’t mind the cold, really. In fact, he kinda likes it, the idea that soon he’ll be home and he can collapse into his bed and crawl under the covers to get warm again.

The walk takes a little over thirty minutes, but he has the light of fireworks to brighten his path, so he jogs. Considering he’s drunk and the ground is streaked with black ice, it may not be the best idea. Unfortunately for him, he only realizes this once he’s fallen on his ass. He gets up and keeps going anyway. 

Against the odds, he makes it to his apartment on the second floor after about fifteen minutes. His hand shakes as he tries to get the key into the door, but he manages it with surprising ease; it only takes him two tries to get it right. It’s nearly three in the morning, so he’s not expecting Steve to be awake when he gets inside, but he’s there on the couch in the living room, drawing sluggishly in the sketchbook that Bucky got him for Christmas just a week ago.

Steve looks up from his spot on the couch as Bucky stumbles inside and struggles to toe off his shoes.

“Close the door, would ya? I ain’t gonna catch cold because you’re too drunk to remember yourself,” Steve says. He’s joking and smiling as he says it, but there’s a sad truth to his words. Bucky turns and closes the door tight behind him and gives Steve a cocky grin once he’s done it.

“Well, ‘m off to bed, then,” Bucky slurs. “Happy New Year, pal.”

Steve stands then, brushing off his slacks. Bucky stumbles as he tries to make his way to his room—thankfully, Steve is up and ready to catch him. He lets out a small _oof_ when Bucky tries to put all his weight on him though, and he has to remember that Steve is 5’4” and 90 pounds soaking wet. He lets up a little.

“Thought you’d have a girl with you,” Steve says as they enter Bucky’s room. He dumps Bucky on his bed and surveys his state a little before moving over to Bucky’s dresser drawers and opening the top one. He almost has to stand up on his tiptoes to look inside, which Bucky finds a little cute.

Wait… what?

Steve is saying something. Bucky tries his hardest to tune back into reality.

“I’m kinda glad you didn’t, though,” he’s muttering. “I never know how to act around them.”

Those words make Bucky’s stomach churn. “I didn’t know you didn’t like them,” he says, frowning.

“Probably because I didn’t say anything,” Steve replies. He shuts the drawer to the dresser and throws a rolled-up pair of socks and a pajama set at Bucky. He’s not expecting it and they land on his head while the socks roll away under his cot.

He scrambles to get the fabric out of his face and sees that Steve is trying to make a swift getaway, but Bucky’s not done talking about this. He grabs the cuff of Steve’s sleeve as he tries to leave the room.

“Please don’t be sore with me, Stevie. I didn’t know.”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together ever-so-slightly. “I ain’t mad, Buck.”

A strange feeling settles in his stomach. Steve is his best pal, always has been, and Bucky would do anything for him, but this isn’t that. This is different. It’s not a feeling of doing what Steve wants so he’ll get off his back… it’s a feeling of wanting Steve to approve of him, to not only be in his good graces, but to deserve his love in the first place.

Despite Steve’s words, the feeling persists. “I’ll stop, Steve,” he promises. “Just say the word.”

Steve stares at him, his arm relaxing in Bucky’s grip.

“Why? You don’t hafta.”

He swallows the lump in his throat and thinks very, very carefully about what he wants to say. There are a certain set of words that bubble to the brim of his mind, but he disregards those for something that is just as true but less incriminating: “You’re more important than them. Than all of ‘em.”

Steve has a strange look on his face. His eyebrows pull together and he works Bucky’s hands off his shirt.

“You need to sleep,” Steve says. His voice is pinched.

He wants so badly to say something, but he can’t even seem to find the words. He doesn’t know what he wants to say. He doesn’t even know what he needs to articulate until Steve is already out of his grasp.

“Happy New Year, Buck,” he says from the doorway. He closes the door behind him, plunging the room into complete darkness.

 

#####  _TWO_

######  **DECEMBER 7** **th** **, 1941**

Bucky can feel Steve slipping away from him as the news on the radio gets grimmer and grimmer. Steve is tough, but the follies and failures of other people have always touched him deeply, and when December 7th rolls around, Bucky knows that it will be difficult trying to focus Steve on anything other than foreign affairs.

They’re in an art class when they get the news. Bucky is trying—and failing—to follow along with the instructor while Steve excels, even _improves upon_ the picture that their teacher has painted for them. It’s cold in the classroom, since Bucky is sat near the window, but he doesn’t want to complain.

He’s trying to perfect a picture of a tree-lined dirt path when a man stumbles into the classroom, the door swinging open and crashing into the wall behind it. A few students startle, and the teacher looks up, annoyed just a bit.

“Excuse me,” the instructor says, a coldness slipping into his tone. “May I ask why you’ve decided to interrupt my class?”

The man doesn’t waste any time on formalities, or even to look fazed by the severity of the instructor’s tone. “We’ve been attacked,” the man says, and the words burst forth from him like he’s been aching to say them.

“Pearl Harbor, the Navy—we’ve been attacked by Japan.”

The instructor looks shocked. He turns to his assistant and orders that he turns on the radio.

A few students look around and set down their brushes, a little shaken by the news. As soon as the radio is turned on, a crackling voice comes through, relaying the news. The man’s words were true, Pearl Harbor had been attacked by Japan, and the teacher goes white as a sheet as the news is positively confirmed by the broadcaster.

He clears his throat, grasping his hands behind his back. He’s sweating, looks like he’s about to get sick.

“Gather your things,” he says, in the clearest voice he can muster. “Class is dismissed. Everyone go home.”

Steve looks at Bucky as he gathers his meager supply of brushes and paints. His face is hardened and angry, almost determined. Bucky gets a sick feeling in his stomach.

 

The next day, Steve tunes in to listen to President Roosevelt’s account to Congress. His face is gray, lined with worry and resignation. The President urges Congress to vote to go to war, and Steve is completely silent during the address and doesn’t comment on anything.

When the news comes later on that Congress has had a nearly unanimous vote to go to war, Steve stands up and says, “I’m going to enlist.”

 _Like hell you are,_ Bucky wants to say. Steve is a great man, and he’s the bravest guy Bucky knows, but he’s just… small. His asthma’s reason enough for the army to not take him, not to mention the colorblindness, the flat feet, the scoliosis… the list goes on.

Instead, Bucky says, “Hey, tough guy. You know how to box?”

 

Steve’s a horrible boxer. Bucky doesn’t go easy on him, though. He doesn’t pull any punches, proverbial or otherwise, because Steve would be angry if he even suspected that Bucky was trying to be nice about it to him. He can already hear Steve’s voice nagging: _You think they’re going to go easy on me when I’m in Europe, Buck? C’mon, hit me already, you big lug._

It’s a long and painful process, but Steve finally manages to land a good hit on him. If there’s one thing about Steve to admire, it’s his determination. Bucky knocks him down and knocks him down, but Steve always manages to get back up if there’s any strength left in him.

 

Steve goes to enlist when they’re coming back from church the Sunday afterwards. The line is long and Steve hops right in, looking at Bucky expectantly.

“I’m gonna go on home, actually,” he excuses. “I need to do something there.”

“You’re not gonna enlist?” Steve asks, confused and a little shocked.

“I will,” Bucky promises— _lies_. “Just, I have something I gotta do at home first.”

Bucky scurries off before Steve can say anything further on the topic. Truth is, Bucky is terrified of the things he’s heard so far of the war. Germany’s power, Japan’s ruthless fighter pilots… he’s afraid of what will happen when he goes to war— _when_ , not if—and he doesn’t know how it will change him. Worse, he’s not even confident that he’ll get out alive.

He gets home before noon and toes off his good shoes and takes off his suit jacket with a huge sigh. He wants nothing more than to just tumble into bed and fall asleep, but he knows Steve is gonna be hungry when he gets back so he decides to make them both lunch.

He gets bread, cheese, and just a little bit of ham for a sandwich for lunch and waits for Steve to get back. And waits. And waits.

Bucky’s starting to get worried, because he knew the line was long, but three hours is a little excessive, but he decides to hold tight a little while longer.

It’s when seven o’clock rolls around that Bucky finally gets up and throws on a jacket, deciding to go looking, that Steve stumbles inside their apartment.

And he’s drunk as hell.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says gently. He starts to take off his jacket, moving slowly as if Steve is an animal to be spooked. “What’d they say? Did you enlist?”

Of course, he already knows the answer. Steve smells like a brewery. He’s ruffled beyond all belief, and he’s clutching a brownish piece of paper in his small hands. He looks like he’s barely able to stand.

“They didn’t want me,” he mutters, clutching the paper tighter in his hands.

“What?” Bucky asks, moving closer to hear better.

“They don’t fuckin’ want me!” Steve shouts. “Look at this, look at this shit.”

He flinches away from the sound, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice he’s caused any harm. He throws down his papers, clearly stamped with a “4F” in the box.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky says, placating . He takes Steve by his shoulders and starts directing him to his bedroom. “C’mon, pal. You’re gonna sleep this off.”

When he gets to Steve’s bedroom, he opens the door and sits Steve on the bed. Steve brings his foot up to undo his shoelaces and fumbles with the string before eventually giving up with a frustrated sigh. Bucky slaps his hands away and kneels down to do it for him, handing Steve his bedclothes.

Bucky undoes the double-knotted laces with ease, slipping his shoe off and then his sock, and then moving on to the next foot. When he’s finished that and tucked the shoes under the bed and thrown the socks into Steve’s hamper, he stands, ready to leave Steve to his own devices when he hears a sniffle.

He turns to see Steve wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He sniffles again, his gaze dropped downwards.

“Stevie?” Buck asks. He sits down next to Steve on the cot as he sniffles yet again. “You ain’t crying, are ya?”

“Not yet,” Steve mutters.

“Aw, pal,” Bucky says. He lifts a hand and starts rubbing circles on Steve’s back, saying, “It’s their loss, Steve, really. They keep picking these guys that don’t want to go, but you—ain’t nobody out there that wants to help more than you.”

“I should be over there,” he murmurs. “I oughta be over there, Buck. It’s just—I’m so fucking _useless_ —”

“Hey,” Bucky says sharply. Steve looks at him in surprise. “Don’t you dare say shit like that about yourself, ya hear? You ain’t useless, Steve. You’re amazing, you’re the bravest guy I know. Braver than me, that’s for sure. Braver than all these assholes skipping out on their orders.”

It’s true, it’s all true, and he wants Steve to feel better, but there’s a part of him that’s glad that Steve is staying home and not going to war. He’d die in a minute. The smoke from the bombs would choke him, would stop up his pitiful lungs. He can’t run with his flat feet, can barely stand up straight with his crooked spine.

“You just… need someone to give you a chance,” he says, even though it pains him to do so.

They’ve gotten closer without realizing it. Steve’s hand rests squarely on his knee, Bucky’s hand rests in the middle of his back. Steve’s eyes flick over his face, and God, he’s beautiful… Bucky loves a pretty dame, but Steve leaves them all wanting.

And it’s here that Bucky usually stops. His feelings ache to be acknowledged but he can barely think about it without his Catholic guilt creeping up on him, followed by thoughts of _Steve would never feel like that about you_ and _You oughta find yourself a pretty girl, you just haven’t found the right girl yet_ and _What the fuck, Barnes, what the fuck is wrong with you?_

That’s not the case, this time. Steve is staring at him in a way that he doesn’t recognize, and Bucky is leaning in, and then stopping, and then leaning in again…

But it’s Steve, surprisingly, who closes the distance.

Bucky almost jumps away in surprise, but Steve has quite a firm grip on the back of his neck and he absolutely refuses to let go. So Bucky just relaxes into it completely, lets Steve just take the lead, lets Steve kiss him the way he’s always wanted to be kissed. It’s sloppy, because the guy can’t have had that much practice, but he kisses Bucky hard and insistent and his enthusiasm makes up the difference. Bucky loves it. He tastes like whiskey and Bucky _loves_ it. He loves the way his tongue moves along with his, he loves the sharp feeling of Steve’s stubble scraping against his chin, he loves _Steve_ —

They break apart suddenly and Bucky’s not sure who ended it first, but he realizes—with astounding clarity—how dangerous his thoughts have become.

Giving Steve one last look-over, he says, “You need to get to bed,” and exits the room.

 

#####  _THREE_

######  **DECEMBER 25** **th** **, 1941**

Christmas usually means Steve and Bucky going to church with Bucky’s family because Steve has little means of family to go with, but this year, Steve told him to just go because he wasn’t feeling well.

It took some convincing, but eventually Bucky left by himself with Steve’s presents to his family in a bag mingling with his own.

He makes it to his parents’ house in time to see his two youngest siblings running around the house. He barely catches his youngest brother from falling face-first onto the kitchen floor, and his youngest sister is nowhere to be found. He puts his brother down and sends him off in search, pointing out that he shouldn’t run in the house, feeling like his father as he says it.

They make their way to midnight mass, which takes _forever_ , it feels like, and every one of the Barnes offspring can barely keep their eyes open. Only his mother and father have no difficulty staying awake.

Rebecca, his oldest sister, corners him. He’s not sure how she manages to get him alone in the hustle and bustle of it all. They’ve only just gotten home from midnight mass when he goes to his old room to collapse on the bed. He nearly nodded off at least twice, only to be elbowed by his mother so that he startled awake. That hasn’t changed, not since he was a child.

He just wants to go home, but his mother insists that he stays in his old room for tonight si they can open presents in the morning. So he stays, and it’s when he’s finally put on his pajamas that Rebecca knocks on his bedroom door. She lets herself in before Bucky can say anything.

“So,” she says, hopping onto the edge of his bed. “Anything new?”

He knows what she’s fishing for. “No,” he says simply.

“Bucky,” she whines. “There’s gotta be _someone_.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. He can’t tell her. He can’t tell anyone about it, but maybe… just to get her off his back…

“Okay, fine. Maybe there is someone,” Bucky says, smiling a little.

She squeals with delight. “Oh, Bucky, who is it? Tell me!”

She grabs his shoulder and shakes, but Bucky just laughs and says, “I ain’t telling! A gentleman never tells.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m talking to _you_ and not some gentleman,” she sasses. “Please? Just a little hint?”

“No,” Bucky reiterates. “But, I have a question.”

She pouts but answers, “What’s the question?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, reminding himself to tread lightly and think before he speaks. “I like her a whole lot, but… I’m afraid I’ll ruin everything if I’m too forward with her. So how do I… say what I want to say without saying it?”

Rebecca laughs at his attempts to make his thoughts clear, but she seems to understand.

“Well,” she says, “lots of women like romantic gestures. You know, buying them chocolate or going on dates. That sort of thing. It’ll imply the things that you want to leave unsaid.” She smiles at him, a little smugly, as she continues, “But I’m not giving you more advice until you tell me who it is.”

“I guess I’ll have to make do with what I have then,” Bucky says, grinning at her.

He cackles when she whines even louder at him, and eventually sends her off to go to bed.

 

The war has taken a few of the men away from Bucky’s job down on the docks, so he receives a promotion and makes a little bit more a month. Following Rebecca’s advice, little things start to show up in his and Steve’s shared apartment.

Little bars of chocolate, wilting flower arrangements, tough thread to darn their clothes and, one day, a new radio.

“What’s this all for, Buck?” Steve asks ask they take the radio out of the box. It’s a cathedral-style radio, last year’s model of course, but still brand new.

“What’s all what for?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Steve says, but he’s smiling a little. “Christmas is over, pal. What’re you buying all the gifts for?”

Bucky looks at him sheepishly. “Just trying to make your life a little more livable, Steve, that’s all,” he says in excuse. Steve smiles at him and covers his hand with his own, squeezing just a little before pulling it away. A little spark of hope fills Bucky’s body with warmth. Hope that he just may one day have the courage to say it, and hope that Steve will perhaps even say it back, and mean it.

 

#####  _FOUR_

######  **MAY 11th, 1942**

It took some convincing, but Bucky finally enlisted in the army. If nothing else, he wanted the disappointed looks that Steve kept giving him to stop. When he got back home with his papers stamped with a red A1, Steve looked up at him with strangely flat and emotionless eyes.

“I’m proud of you, Buck,” he said.

That was last month, before Bucky went to basic training in Wisconsin.

Basic training is hell.

He spends his days in the sun, hot rays beating down on his neck. It’s still a little cold in the mornings, the spring seeming reluctant to take away the nip in the air, but Bucky manages. There are ten mile runs, and instances of crawling through the dirt under looping barbed wire. He climbs rope ladders, sleeps on a rock-hard, rusted-spring cot at night. Steve writes him letters. His mother sends chocolate. It doesn’t make it much better, but it makes it bearable.

It lasts a few months, but it feels like a couple thousand years. He’s pleasantly surprised when he is informed that he can go home and that he’ll receive his orders in Brooklyn.

When he gets back home from basic, he feels, strangely, like he doesn’t belong. He visits his family, but they all seem chipper and excited, if a little worried, and Bucky can only think that this is either the last time that he’s going to seem them, or that he’ll not be the same when he returns from overseas. He feels like he’s already not the same.

Steve helps, of course. He does anything he can to offer Bucky comfort, and seems quieter around him now. Bucky appreciates it, and likes that he doesn’t try to talk up a storm to cover up the idea that Bucky could be leaving and never come back, like his mother did. She could barely contain her words around him.

 

He’s only on leave for about two weeks. His letter is coming soon, he knows, with his orders. Bucky tosses and turns in his own bed, unable to sleep. He’ll be leaving for some foreign country soon. He wonders where he’ll be going—Europe, the Pacific? North Africa, maybe. No destination really holds any improvement over the others. He should have joined the Coast Guard.

Suddenly, he’s out of his bed. He leaves his room and goes down the hallway to Steve’s. He stands there for a few seconds, unsure of what he’s really doing. He raises his hand, hesitates a few seconds, and then knocks softly.

“Come in,” Steve’s voice calls.

Bucky enters, shutting the door behind him. The room is dark—the only source of light being from the window where the thin curtain fails to block out all the light from the streetlamp outside.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, sitting up in his bed.

“Hi,” Bucky says. The silence falls between them, settling thick over their space like a blanket. He swallows the lump in his throat and takes a tentative step closer.

“Could… could I?” He gestures vaguely to Steve’s bed, and he hopes he understands, because he’s way too afraid to admit it aloud. He… he couldn’t possibly…

Steve understands. He nods and pulls the covers back. As Bucky crawls into bed with him, he says, “You don’t mind?”

“No, Buck, I don’t mind,” Steve mutters. Bucky settles in next to him, sharing the pillow, turned to face him. He seems lost in his own head, and Bucky wants, selfishly, to be the center of his attention. He wants Steve to look at him, to love him, to say what’s on his mind, but he knows that he can’t ask that of him.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve whispers.

He perks up for a moment, lifting his head off of the pillow. “Yeah, pal?”

There’s a long, silent moment. And then Steve just says, “Nothing. Never mind.”

Bucky puts his head back on the pillow, a little disappointed. “Okay,” he says. Gathering courage, he slips his arm over Steve’s middle, wrapping it around his waist. “Is… is this okay?”

He can’t read the expression on Steve’s face. “Yeah,” he says, sounding even and cool as ever. Bucky wants to cry.

Once again, they’re plunged into silence. Steve closes his eyes eventually, his breaths becoming deeper and more even, until Bucky is sure that he’s asleep.

“Steve?” he whispers.

The blond doesn’t answer. His forehead is smoothed over, no tension lining his face. His chest rises and falls in a monotonous pattern, and his nostrils flare just slightly as he exhales in sleep.

Once Bucky is positive that he’s asleep, he begins to talk. It’s like he can’t help himself.

_I’m scared, buddy._

_You’d think I’m a coward, but I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave._

_I don’t want to die. I don’t…_

He sniffles a little, blames it on the fact that their room is cold as hell.

“I wish you’d just stop trying,” he whispers to Steve, brushing some hair away from his face. “I couldn’t stand losing you, Stevie. I love you too damn much.” His voice suddenly turns thick, and he has to stop before he loses all semblance of control. Steve sighs in his sleep, and Bucky freezes and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep before Steve can ask him anything. Oh God, is he awake? Did he hear?

Bucky is up and out of bed before Steve the next morning, and doesn’t acknowledge anything that happened the night before.

Steve would prefer it like that. Bucky’s shipping out soon anyway.

 

#####  _FIVE_

######  **NOVEMBER 29** **th** **, 1943**

Bucky would like to say that he’s not a damsel in distress, but it’s hard to defend that idea when Steve, now amazingly strong and tall and irresistibly handsome, steals him away from the base where he was kept prisoner. Bucky might as well have been locked away in the tallest tower, guarded by the most fearsome dragon. It’s all just some fever-dream to him, some fucked-up fairy tale that he can’t wait to stop living in.

He’s not used to Steve being like this. He watches as Steve—so big and tall, broad-shouldered and beautiful—flirts his way through an exchange with Agent Carter. Bucky has been thoroughly pushed to the sidelines. She doesn’t even glance his direction. Neither does Steve.

It’s not that Bucky can’t handle Steve being all big and strong. It’s… fine. It’s great, actually, that Steve is healthy. Steve finally looks on the outside how he is on the inside.

So no, it’s not the fact that Steve is stronger that is killing him. It’s the _flirting_. The flirting is what _really_ pisses him off. And Bucky knows that it’s not fair to be angry about that because it’s not like he and Steve were dating or anything. They kissed one time, almost two years ago. It’s just that Bucky, selfishly, liked that he was the only one to know how great Steve is. Now that he’s had the Serum, _everyone_ knows.

Peggy Carter doesn’t even glance in Bucky’s direction when he flirts with her. She keeps her eyes locked on Steve, and _Steve_ keeps his gaze on her face. She walks away with her hips swaying; Bucky is sure that’s for Steve’s benefit.

“I’m turning into you. It’s like some horrible dream,” he says, laughing awkwardly. The joke falls flat.

Okay, so maybe he isn’t okay with Steve being big and strong.

Maybe he just doesn’t like that Steve doesn’t need him anymore.

Steve gives him an indulgent smile and says, “Don’t take it so hard. Maybe she’s got a friend.”

Bucky leaves the bar that night feeling disappointingly sober.

 

Those assholes at the Hydra facility fucked him up real good. He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him. It’s harder to get drunk—he’s definitely _tried_. His heart rate is slower, his muscles are stronger, his reflexes are faster than ever. And when he sees Steve, he can’t help but like he’s about to burst with the tidal waves of emotions that he provokes: love, anger, jealousy, fear…

When he looks at Steve, his heart feels full to bursting, and he can just barely stop himself from telling him how he feels or from kissing him silly. But when Steve looks at someone else, immediately Bucky feels the prickling annoyance of jealousy; he wants to demand that Steve pay attention only to him. Anger sets his teeth on edge, makes him want to punch something… and fear makes him freeze and stops him from doing anything at all.

He starts avoiding Steve altogether. They go on missions together, and they talk still, but Bucky feels like some awful demon has taken residence within him, and that he can hardly control himself.

So he’s a little surprised when Steve actually still cares.

“Hey, Barnes,” a voice calls.

Bucky perks up from his spot on a free cot in the medical tent. He’d been looking for an escape and he found one in here, talking to one of the soldiers lying on a bed, his leg propped up on a pillow.

“Captain’s looking for you,” Gabe—the one who called for him—says, pointing his thumb behind him.

Bucky stands and makes his way out of the tent and into the rain. Gabe walks him to Steve’s quarters, braving the mud and slick with him. When they arrive at their destinatio, Gabe calls into Steve’s tent, tells him he's brought Bucky. Steve calls back and tells him to send him in. 

Buckysays goodbye to Gabe and ducks inside. The tent is much more spacious than a regular soldier’s, with room to wander around and a bigger cot. There’s a table covered with papers, a little tin coffee cup sitting atop it, and a chair pushed in. It must act as Steve’s desk.

Steve is sitting on his cot when Bucky walks in. He looks up when he hears him approaching, and gets up to slap him on the back and say hello.

They exchange pleasantries, but Bucky doesn’t appreciate that Steve seems to be dancing around the issue at hand. After making small talk for several minutes, Bucky says, “Steve, why am I here? Really?”

Steve’s smile falters a little bit and he sighs. “You’ve been acting a little weird since we got back,” he explains.

Bucky stiffens, unsure of what’s going to come next. 

“I just wanted to know,” he says softly. “How are you, Buck?” Not unkindly. His eyes are soft, full of concern, and Christ, it’s like he’s his old self again. Not the war hero, not Captain America, just good ol’ Steve Rogers, his best pal in the whole world.

And doesn’t that make Bucky just feel like a pile of shit.

Here he is, worrying about this and that, cursing Steve for being busy, for not talking to him, for loving Agent Carter, when not a damn thing has changed about Steve except that he’s a little taller now. Steve is still his friend, still a huge pain in the ass, still as loving and as caring as he’s always been.

If anyone’s changed, it’s Bucky. He’s a selfish man now.

“I’m good, Steve. I’m real good,” he answers, because it seems stupid to lay all his problems on Steve when he’s got enough on his plate already.

Steve lays his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a squeeze.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Steve murmurs. He looks so serious, calm, and it hurts to see him all put-together when Bucky can barely sleep at night for fear he’ll wake back up on the table in Dr. Zola’s lab and this will all have been some drug-induced hallucination.

“Of course,” Bucky says. He tucks his hands in his pockets and drops his gaze downward, focusing his attention on a spot of mud on his shoes.

He wants to be normal, but it’s like his love for Steve is bursting out of him, amplified by a thousand. But Steve isn’t his to profess to. Perhaps there may have been something once, but now…

“So,” Bucky manages. “Agent Carter, huh?”

Steve blushes all the way to the tips of his ears, which makes Bucky chuckle. Same old Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “She’s amazing, Buck. Really.”

“I’m sure she is,” Bucky says, smiling. “I know you wouldn’t chase after some plain jane.”

Steve scoffs and cuffs him on the shoulder for that comment.

“I’m gonna take her dancing,” he says. “When this is all over.”

Bucky chuckles and rolls his eyes. “And how are you going to do that if you don’t know how to dance, huh?”

He blushes all the way down his neck. “Don’t make fun of me, I’m already nervous about it.”

“C’mon, Rogers, you just—” He plants Steve’s hand on his waist and takes the other in his free hand, lifting it to shoulder height. “Feel the beat.”

“What—you trying to waltz with me?”

“Why don’t _I_ teach and _you_ listen, huh? How about we do _that_?” Bucky grumps. “I’m doing you a _favor_.”

“There ain’t no music,” Steve grouses, but his hand tightens around Bucky’s hip anyway. Bucky starts moving them in small, concentric circles in the tent. He’s leading, and Steve is trying very hard, but he keeps fucking up. Bucky thinks it’s kinda cute, actually.

“C’mon, Stevie—you can do it,” Bucky encourages.

“I’m just stepping on your feet!” Steve groans.

“You never could dance,” Bucky says. He smiles for what feels like the first time in days. It passes quickly, though, because he needs to remind himself that he’s not allowed to enjoy this.  

Steve steps on his toe again and his gaze shoots down to the floor, trying to look at where he’s stepping.

“Stop looking at your damn feet!” Bucky laughs. “Pal, c’mon, you’re just gonna drive yourself crazy. Look at me, don’t worry about your feet.”

Steve improves quite a bit, actually, when he takes his eyes off the ground. He focuses on Bucky’s face, but he can see that Steve is concentrating hard.

“You’re thinking too much,” Bucky whispers. He feels Steve relax a little in his grip. “There you go, Stevie.”

Steve smiles at him, and Bucky knows now that this was probably a mistake, because now Steve is looking at his face and he’s starting to blush when he realizes how close they are. Steve, too, seems to take notice as they slow to a stop. Their hands are still clasped, his arm is still over Steve’s shoulder, his hand still at Bucky’s waist.

It’s so damn quiet.

Bucky thinks, for a brief moment, that Steve is going to kiss him. That’s only ever happened the one time, when Steve was hurting and he wanted someone to want him.

It’s different now. Steve doesn’t love Bucky, and Bucky ought to stop hoping that that’ll change, because it won’t. Not now… not when Steve finally has everything that he wants. He doesn’t need Bucky anymore. He… he doesn’t really need anyone.

Bucky drops Steve’s hand and steps back. He feels Steve’s hand slip off his waist and swing back to his side, open-palmed and loose without something to hold on to. Buck rubs the back of his neck, unable to meet Steve’s eyes.

He clears his throat and looks away. “You did alright, bud. For a first-timer.”

Steve hums in reply, and it’s so quiet. This was a mistake. He’d just wanted to be closer to Steve, but now…

“It’s late, I should get back to my tent,” Bucky says, which isn’t a lie. It’s almost eleven, and Bucky needs every second of shut-eye that he can get. “Got an early day tomorrow, right?”

Steve smiles at him. “Yeah. I need you up bright and early, Barnes,” he says in a fake-reproachful tone. “We got a train to catch.”

Bucky musters up a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. _Captain_ ,” he adds cheekily.

 

#####  _SIX_

######  **NOVEMBER 2015**

The future is strange, but it’s not that difficult to adjust, considering he’s a man out of time. The past fifty years of spotty experience doesn’t hurt, either, but still. It’s impressive.

He doesn’t know what to think about himself. Steve will be adamantly for a positive interpretation of his personality and past actions, but for now, he doesn’t know what to believe. The memories are muddled together, and he’s unsure of what’s real and what was just wishful thinking.

It takes a long time to sort through. He knows Steve, that much is true. He remembers him, and long walks in Brooklyn, and he remembers(?) some things that seem too good to actually be true.

He remembers the war, the sniping, the Howling Commandos. A woman with dark hair and bright red lipstick. And then he remembers a train… and that’s when things start to get complicated.

Steve is looking for him, he knows. He wants desperately to let Steve find him, to fall into his arms, into the hug he knows Steve will insist upon, but he can’t let himself. He needs to sort out what he’s doing first, he needs to straighten up—ha—and live on his own before he tries to drag other people into his mess. Steve doesn’t deserve to be brought into the middle of this.

 

He writes down a letter.

 

_Steve,_

_Don’t search for me. If you can’t find me, it’s because it’s for the best. Trust me, I’m not well. I’m not exactly the guy you knew back before the war. I’m not even the guy that you knew with the Commandos. Don’t waste your time on me._

_Trust me, Stevie. No one wants you to find me more than I want you to. This is for your own safety, and for the safety of your friends. I’ll see you again, buddy. Just not now._

 

_All the best,_

_B_

 

He finishes his thoughts and looks at the ink as it dries. Then he crumples it up and throws it in the trash. If Steve is looking for him hard enough, maybe he’ll find this apartment after he’s abandoned it.

 

#####  _SEVEN_

######  **JANUARY 2016**

Bucky isn’t happy with Steve.

Steve got his dumb ass shot on a mission, taking the bullet for Wanda, who was immersed and too focused on her magic to survey the situation. Around her. She had a force field around her to protect herself. Steve is an idiot.

It’s not like Steve hasn’t been shot before. Bucky’s seen that, but the way Steve fights when they’re on missions makes him angry. He throws himself around like he’s got nothing to lose. And yes, Steve is very strong and powerful. But he’s not invincible.

They removed the bullets on the ride over in Stark’s hovercraft and put bones back into place easily. Bucky sat behind and waited for the news. One of the bullets hit his shoulder, a little too close to his heart for comfort. But when the bullet was taken out, he healed gracefully. The only evidence left is a scar in his left shoulder, and a sore collarbone.

The ride in the elevator back to their floor is… tense.

Natasha stands between Steve and Bucky, not feeling the awkwardness of the moment. Steve is cradling his wrist in his hand, patched up from the mission already, and Bucky is positively fuming, but Natasha seems serene as always.

“What floor?” she asks.

Bucky grunts. Steve says, “Fifty-four.”

“Oh, that’s near me,” she says, spritely as ever. She punches two buttons, fifty-four and fifty-seven.

It seems to take forever to get up to their floor. When they do, Bucky storms out while Natasha calls, “Byyye,” and Steve wanders in behind.

The doors close and Bucky turns around.

“Are you kidding me, Steve?” Bucky says, his voice pinched. It’s the first time he’s spoken since he hauled Steve away from the scene and into the hovercraft.

“What?” Steve says. “What’d I do?”

That’s a stupid question, Bucky thinks. “You almost died!”

Bucky can see how much Steve wants to say, _But I didn’t_. “Why are you so mad?” Steve shouts at him. “This isn’t anything I haven’t done before.” He throws his hands up, and marches over to the kitchen. Bucky follows him, anger filling his chest, like a cup full of boiling water has just been poured over his heart. “I’m mad because you’re being a dumb shit!” he snaps.

“Bucky, I’m fine!” Steve shouts. “It was stupid, yeah, but I lived, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” Bucky growls. “And that’s not the _point_ ,” he continues. “The point is that you’ve been doing these things over and over forever, and you’re gonna get really hurt one day. You _have_ gotten really hurt.”

“Over and over?” Steve sasses. “Do tell.”

“Well, for one, driving your fucking airplane into the ocean,” Bucky says. Before Steve can get a reply in, Bucky goes on. “Or jumping on a grenade, perhaps, or jumping out of a fucking airplane with no parachute?” Bucky realizes now how much he needs to get Steve _away from airplanes_.

“Nat told you about that?” is all Steve says.

Bucky sighs. “So what if Nat told me? Steve, I can’t, I can’t lose you again,” Bucky mutters, and suddenly everything is too much. The last seventy years, all his emotions from the war and before… they come rushing into him again, and he’s finally reached the boiling point. He can’t contain himself. Tears spill out of his eyes and he’s terrified. He tightens his fists in Steve’s shirt and looks down, unable to make eye contact or he’ll really be in the shit.

“I can’t lose you again. Don’t you get it, Steve?” _I love you. I love you so much._ “I lost you once. They took you away from me. I don’t want that to ever happen again.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment, until, “Buck. Look at me.”

He stares at the ground for a moment longer before finally raising his eyes up to Steve’s. His friend puts a big warm hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he says. “To the end of the line, right?”

“Right,” Bucky says. “End of the line.”

Bucky doesn’t move. He should, but he stands there with his hands in Steve’s shirt, and Steve’s hand stays where it is on Bucky’s shoulder. They’ve been looking at each other for too long, now.

Bucky moves first. It’s his turn, anyway. He stands on his toes and catches Steve’s mouth with his, and Steve doesn’t push him away. In fact, he pulls him closer. In fact, he kisses him back.

He thrills, dropping his hands from Steve’s shirt and bringing his hands to clutch his hips. Steve’s hands frame his face, holding on firmly but gently, and Steve is so sweet with him, so soft and perfect. His anger has been replaced with a glowing light, like the white curtains that caught the sunshine in Steve’s old bedroom in Brooklyn.

 

#####  _EIGHT_

######  **JANUARY 2016**  

Bucky wakes up as the sunshine spills through the cracks in the shutters over Steve’s windows. A sunbeam hits his face, disturbing him from a pleasant sleep. He turns in bed and finds himself hindered by a large arm—Steve’s arm, dead weight, slung over his stomach.

That’s right. Bucky remembers now.

He turns his head a little more, finds Steve with his eyes closed, his hair fluffy, and his skin so warm, and Bucky has to say it.

“Steve,” Bucky says.

Steve, evidently already awake but still groggy, shushes him.

“Stevie,” Bucky whines.

“I’m sleeping,” Steve says.

“It’s important.”

The blond finally opens his eyes, his eyebrow quirking up. “Important enough that you have to wake me before nine o’clock on a Saturday?”

“Yes,” Bucky insists, but he’s smiling. “I love you.”

Steve perks up a bit. Awake now. Bucky could roll his eyes, but then Steve smiles at him, pushes away a strand of hair from his face, cups his jaw in his hand. He runs a thumb over his cheek.

“I love you, too, Buck.”


End file.
